


The Man in the Back Said Everyone Attack

by thegoodthebadandthenerdy



Category: American Vandal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Established Relationship, F/F, M/M, Murder Mystery, Party, sort of like theres no real murder but they get rlly into the acting, that's right y'all it's a clue au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 09:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20927771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoodthebadandthenerdy/pseuds/thegoodthebadandthenerdy
Summary: On the outskirts of town sits the notorious Hanover Manor, beacon of mystery and decadence. Six friends arrive, but they enter as a cast of characters hiding more secrets than necessary for a lousy little dinner party. Unless, of course, there's more courses to the meal than they realize.-challenge: use the words labor day, taupe, and chamomile.





	The Man in the Back Said Everyone Attack

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grasslandgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grasslandgirl/gifts).

> title from ballroom blitz by sweet
> 
> okay SO this one goes out to sav who has been cheering on all of my random writings for nearly a whole ass year now!!! we met through av and i'm forever grateful so when she sent in the words as a prompt i decided to do a lil spin on it bc we'd already been discussing a clue au so i hope you enjoy it sav ily!!!!!

"All I'm saying is I think having this particular party on Labor Day is fucking weird, man, like, it's an odd choice to go all out like this for," Sam said as he tugged at the sleeves of his purple suit jacket. Had he gotten it for a steal? Abso-fucking-lutely. Were the sleeves too short for his ungodly, gangly arms? Also yes, but not the point.

"And Halloween is any better?"

"Uh, yeah, it sure fucking is! What the fuck, Pete, don't go anti-Halloween on me this year, I can't handle it."

"All _I'm_ saying is that at least this is before the semester ramps up, but with Halloween you're already like. In it. There's no going back. Carving the time out is easier now."

"How have we been best friends forever and dating for so long and I'm just now learning about your entirely wrong Halloween party opinions?"

Peter cut a dirty look at him over his glasses frames--upgraded since high school, bigger and rounder with a nice speckled finish--and proceeded to roll back the sleeves on his forest green button up despite the faint September breeze.

"That doesn't look as badass as you want it to," Sam said, waving a hand at him, "Like, dude you're wearing a vest, I feel like my Calc teacher is 'not mad just a little disappointed.'"

Peter huffed out a laugh from behind his thin smile, shaking his head as he finished his left arm and started on his right, going a little slower at that because he couldn't do shit with his left hand. "Fuck you, man."

Sam grinned, but was ultimately stopped from replying with any of the slew of comments that came to mind when he noticed the little chalkboard sign just up ahead. Blessed by better genetics than his boyfriend, he could read it loud and clear from twenty paces off.

_Cordial Guests, This Way <--_

"Ah, sweet, concrete directions," Sam called as he paced ahead, fingers beating against his thigh as a theater kid thrill shot up his spine. Never doubt what a little bit of prop work would put into a story, that's what he always said.

"There are literally painstaking directions on the back of the invites!"

Sam made a _pshaw_ noise with his mouth that made Peter consider never letting his mouth anywhere near Sam's again as they raced up the steps to--well, whatever they were in for.

Hanover Manor was kind of notorious for the fact that it was easily rented for the right price, but no one ever knew exactly who their money went to. A week prior to your selected booking date, at a time orchestrated by the manor's receptionist, you dropped your bundle of cash in the mail slot and kept stepping. No one was to enter without booking or express invite.

Even though the invites were in his pocket, Peter's ribcage tremored a little at the thought of not having the proper credentials. Sure, he wasn't above a little B&E if it meant a story, but he also knew better than to fuck with the powers that be, and the powers that be over Hanover Manor were shady as hell. Which was why his phone would be recording the entire time they were there--he'd deleted so much music off his phone to make sure there'd be enough storage space. And his NPR app, too. Fucking sacrifices.

"Do you think we should knock or is it like a Munsters deal where Herman just kinda knows, you think?"

"If Herman Munster opens that fucking door I'm going home, Sam, you know how I feel about him."

"So overcome with raw wanting you just can't hold yourself back?"

"I literally fucking hate you."

"Babe, I know you love me, you don't have to tell me every waking minute, it's embarrassing for other people."

Peter resolutely pushed his eyes forward, ignoring Sam's smug grin. Instead--because he knew it took all the fun out of the joke for Sam, and like hell was he letting him have that one--he eyed the door, tracking each groove with forced intensity so as not to break into a grin and lose their battle of wills because fuck if Sam's stupid grin didn't always get him smiling, even at the worst of times.

The door was massive, probably oak or, or spruce or some bullshit like that. Peter didn't take woodshop, so he wouldn't know, but what he did know was that the door was way too fucking big, and it was giving him a complex. There was a huge, brass knocker in the middle of it in the shape of whatever those shapes that were kinda rounded but kinda not were called, and a foot down the cherry-stained wood sat the same mail slot that had gotten such a clandestine reputation. 

On either side were two spiralling, stunted trees dropped in planters large enough to hold at least a body a piece, and off to the far side of the leftmost shrub was an unsavory looking metal bench that didn't even have cushions on it, which said a lot, Peter felt, because there was definitely money in the budget somewhere to run to fucking K-Mart and grab a pillow off the home and garden clearance.

Like, there was a wrap-around porch on both fucking levels of the house, they had the money.

Patience thinning until it snapper, "Yeah, I'm just gonna knock," Sam said, head bobbing, pulling Peter out of his inner turmoil over the taupe vinyl siding and how it looked next to the black shutters (not his favorite combination.)

"Don't trip," Peter added absently, finally letting a small smile fall onto his mouth as Sam jogged ahead to the door--because yes, the porch was wide enough you had to jog across it's warped green boards to get anywhere.

Lifting the knocker with his finger, Sam let it slam against the door once, then twice, and was going for a third when it swung open, revealing a haggard head of carrot hair and a smug smile that Peter thought was nowhere near as endearing as Sam's.

"You fucking kidding me? Trimboli?" Sam balked, shoving his hands in the pockets of his slacks--which, unlike his jacket, were too long, and had to be hastily pinned up so he wouldn't break his neck.

Alex Trimboli, for his part, had the decency to try to look sheepish, even if he failed, as he ducked his head and stage-whispered, "Uh, actually it's, y'know, Wadsworth, the butler, so if you could like, stick to the script-"

Peter silently rolled his eyes and made sure to step heavier than usual as he came up the last of the stairs, loud enough to drown out Trimboli's frantic hissing.

Clearing his throat, Trimboli gave a jerky sweep of his arm and in what may have passed for a posh accent in a dark bar on $2 beer night said, "Right this way, right this way, good sirs. Thank you for your attendance Professor Plum, and you too, Mr. Green."

Sam, not one to turn down some improv when he clocked it, hurried inside and shucked his jacket, leaving him in his faintly pinstriped purple button up as nervous energy started to fizzle off of him in droves. Peter had seen this a hundred times, and he knew when his boyfriend had shifted into a character. "Right, right, Wadsworth, my mistake, good man! Mr. Green, are you coming in or not?"

Peter pursed his lips, but gave chase, inclining his head to Trimboli as he passed through and into the gaping foyer. His shoes, scuffed but still standing, cracked against the Colgate white tile beneath them, echoing on down the hallway just ahead.

"The others, Wadsworth," he said as Trimboli moved to close the door behind them. "Are they here yet?"

"The ladies arrived just a moment ago, let me deliver you to the study."

? ? ?

"No shit," Jenna drawled when Trimboli unceremoniously shoved them into the study and drew the pocket doors behind the pair, leaving them all to blink at one another as their eyes readjusted.

"Professor," Gabi said with a small smile. She was stood beside an antique chaise lounge in a stunning, all-white jumpsuit, fiddling at the ruby around her throat. "No surprise to see you here." 

She pointed to herself somewhere between her clavicle and mandible, and mouthed, _Miss White_ with a barely contained smile, before throwing a thumb at Jenna, who was sprawled ungracefully across the lounge in a burning red pantsuit atop a white t-shirt, and adding, _Ms. Scarlet._

"Miss White, what a pleasure," Sam said, practically vibrating across the room to pump her hand three quick times. "And Ms. Scarlet, what an--well, what an evening we're having."

Jenna barked a laugh, but pushed herself to her feet nevertheless to clap a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Now, Plum, I don't know what's got you all nervous. The night hasn't even begun," she said with a sharp-toothed grin, more sinister than Sam would have liked to think she was capable of on such short notice. It was pretty fucking impressive, actually.

"You'll scare the poor man half to death like that, Scarlet," Gabi clucked. "And what's the use if it's not all the way?"

Jenna turned her grin on Gabi, though it softened incredibly. "I like your style, Miss White."

"And you, Mr. Green?" Gabi questioned.

"Why, I'm just along for the ride, Miss White," Peter replied, pushing his glasses up his nose with his forefinger and aiming a breezy look at all three of them.

The doors slipped open behind him, and in came tumbling Kevin, squeaky clean shoes cleanly squeaking across the heartwood floors. He aimed a hiss over his shoulder as the door slammed shut behind him before tugging out the wrinkles in his burnt yellow vest. He huffed something else, also unidentifiable, and turned to face them all.

"Colonel," he said to their quirked brows, moving onto shaking the wrinkles out of his matching yellow suit jacket by tugging at the lapels. "Mustard," he added impatiently. Peter was waiting for him to start beating the crinkles from his brown dress pants.

"Colonel, of course," Jenna said in that kind of unaffected tone she used when she was either upset enough to not want anyone to know, or happy enough she didn't know what to do with herself. It was anyone's guess. "Charmed."

"I wish I could say the same, Miss…?"

"Scarlet. Ms. You won't forget it a second time, I trust?"

"Haven't forgotten it the first, Ms.," he replied through gritted teeth. Sam shot Peter a gleeful look across the tension and mouthed, _This is gonna be so good._

Peter buried his laugh somewhere in his own shoulder.

"How's the weather been in your neck of the woods, Colonel?" Sam interjected, but before Kevin could turn on him to answer, the door inched open one final time, and Dylan Maxwell peeped his head through the crack. Once he recognized the first face, he slipped in, decked out in a surprisingly well fit navy suit paired only with an emerald tie and pocket square.

Delightedly, he crowed, "Oh, shit!" before grabbing up Peter in a bear hug that nearly tipped them head over heel.

"Dyl," Peter murmured under his breath. "We're in character already."

"What? Shit, are you serious?" Dylan muttered, and when Peter nodded ever so slightly, he pushed him back and loudly cleared his throat. "Duh, of course. Uh, good afternoon, people."

"Good afternoon," Gabi and Sam chorused back, the former with her grin buried in the shoulder of her girlfriend's jacket.

There was a half-hearted, "Evening," from Kevin, and a lazy salute from Jenna to match.

"Name?" Peter whispered.

"Fuck, right." He gestured to his suit with a wagging hand. "Peacock, just Peacock."

And with that, the party began.

? ? ?

Dinner was to be three courses, the first arriving promptly at seven fifteen. Dylan, who hadn't eaten all day, wasn't appreciative of that fact, but as it turned out, he did his best improv while hungry.

"I say, I say," he said, slapping his knee as he squirmed around in the chair behind the desk. Nevermind the Foghorn Leghorn impression, it was all he could think of. "I want to know a-why we've been collected and stuffed in here like a couple-a sardines."

They were encroaching on a quarter 'til by the clock on the wall, which meant they'd been there a little over an hour and would be there thirty minutes more. The door had been tried the second Kevin realized he had to take a leak, but that had proven fruitless, and so they made him sit himself and his jangling leg on the far side of the room before Jenna strangled him with the curtain tie. 

Other than that, they'd all mostly kept it together, but that was quickly waning into impatient tapping and darting eyes. 

Gabi and Jenna had kept close, keeping up a quick banter within their character voices while they shared the chaise lounge. Dylan had taken up residence behind the desk, feet kicked up on the top of it while he swayed back and forth in the rolling chair, regularly shooting questions at Sam who was, for all intents and purposes, being nosy as fuck. After they'd gone through introductions, he'd taken to investigating the bookshelves, book by book for lack of anything else to do. Peter had watched through his peripheral, taking mental note if Sam held anything up over his shoulder too long.

Chewing absently on his thumb, the other hand on his side, "I'd like an explanation, too," Peter piped in, looking up from hole he'd been trying to burn in the ornamental carpet underfoot. He was close to the same boat as Dylan in that all he'd had that day was two cups of coffee and a mashed Nutri Grain bar he'd found in the bottom of his bag some hours beforehand.

"Isn't it obvious?" Sam asked, hands waving around his head as he turned away from a thick tome. He'd adopted a pinched, anxious expression for the Professor that he would later tell Peter was based off the face he made when he was on deadline. "Power play, it's all a power play, Peacock."

Jenna clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Thank you for clearing that up for us, Professor, it's all really in perspective now."

"The professor is right," Kevin chimed in, the first time he'd done so since his arrival. Pushing himself up from his seat, he brushed his jacket back and rested his hands on his hips. "There will be no sense in going for each other's throats yet, no. It's psychological warfare."

Gabi, who had tugged her legs up under herself, watched them bounce back and forth like a tennis match. She had undoubtedly been dealing the best of them all with the onset of mass claustrophobia and early onset paranoia. 

"Even if we don't even know why we're here?" Dylan insisted.

"I think we all know exactly why we're here," Gabi said, calm and collected, but there was a kind of tension around her eyes. "I think we all know, and unless anyone would like to share with the class, we should all just wait it out."

"Easy for you to say, Miss White," Jenna, of all people, tsked. "You've got nothing to worry about, do you?"

"You don't know me at all, Ms. Scarlet, and I think you'd do well to remember that before making assumptions about my life."

"I know your type well enough," Jenna replied, and exactly no one in the room missed the wink she shot at Gabi thereafter. Across the room, Sam made fake gagging noises disguised for the Professor as something caught at the back of his throat.

"And I know yours."

The sound of the clock cracked above them, the second hand making its next round as the minute hand geared up to trudge forward once more. They'd been instructed to leave their phones at the door, so to speak, and so they all had--except for Peter, of course, but that was neither here nor there, and also rather expected--but they all were regretting it, if only to idly scroll something, or play a round or two of something, anything to pass the time.

The rest of their sentence crawled by without anymore event, until finally Trimboli rolled the doors of the study open one last time. "Dinner is served."

Jenna was the first to her feet, pushing ahead of the group to slip from the room. After her was Sam, and then Gabi, next came Peter, and then Dylan, and finally, Kevin, whose face was turning surely red. Everyone had kind of forgotten he still needed to hit the little boy's room, or whatever other absurd term he had for it.

Trimboli lead them through the winding halls of the Manor, taking them by shut doors and locked doors and cracked open just enough to give you a taste of what you were missing doors. Their group was tense with thrill, lips sealed and eyes peeled.

As they came to the dining room, Trimboli stopped them at the door to seat them one by one, a delicate balance around the six footer table. To the left of the head seat he placed Gabi, with Dylan just beside her. Jenna was on Dylan's left and across from Sam, who was beside Kevin. Peter finished out the lineup, to the right of the head of the table where he tapped his fingers on the tabletop like a drumroll. In front of each of them sat a place card with their names in tight, printed script.

"Before we get started can I-?" Kevin jerked his head over his shoulder, face set toward a grimace, but then again that wasn't all that uncommon for Kevin.

Trimboli cocked his head to the side, dropping the Wadsworth façade for an immediate twist of plain bafflement. "Dude, what?" he muttered out of the side of his mouth.

"Just take him to the fucking bathroom so he doesn't piss his pants," Jenna bit out quickly as she fiddled with the fork at her place setting. "Seriously, he's been acting like he downed a case of 5 Hour Energies since ten minutes after he got here."

Trimboli snapped back into his character and nodded, already tipping Kevin's chair back. "Of course, of course."

As they slipped out the door, Kevin's voice could be heard asking to also be taken by the kitchens to ask just how hot they boiled their water. No one batted an eye.

"Right, then," Sam said once he figured they--or, more aptly, Trimboli--was out of earshot. Snatching up his place card, he flipped it up and down and all around, looking for anything that might clue them in on the game at hand. They had gotten their initial character breakdowns with the invites, sure, but that was never where it ended with these kinds of things.

"Do you not know how to read, Professor?" Jenna asked, her tongue peeking between her teeth as he sputtered on a response that didn't immediately amount to a laughing _fuck you._

"No, Ms. Scarlet, they just hand out the degrees to the ones with the most charming smiles."

"I'm still not sure how that factors into how _you_ procured one, though, Professor."

"You know, you've been awful quiet tonight, Miss White," Peter said to Gabi over the din of their respective partners bickering. 

"What was it you said earlier, Green? You're just along for the ride?" 

He nodded.

"Well, I'm just biding my time."

A few moments of white noise later, the door skipped open once more, and Kevin skittered back to his seat, his hair looking a little worse for wear, as if he'd been standing over a particularly large pot and the steam had curled the ends. Trimboli entered a few delayed seconds after him and clicked the door shut once more, giving a thin smile to the table.

"Dinner?"

They had all kind of unanimously figured the food would, to put it mildly, suck, but to each of their surprises, they were greeted by a genuine first course, and then second. During the third, well off their guard, Trimboli stood behind the head chair and addressed them quickly.

Checking a watch that wasn't there, he announced, "Our final guest should arrive in the next minute or so." Fingers gripping the top of the chair almost eagerly, he continued, "I won't name them, for fear of your reactions, but I assume you've all come to the same conclusion, what with the blackmail, and all."

"Bastard," Jenna hissed, right on target, to and about no one in particular.

"Shit," came Sam's eloquent addition, and the rest of their party's right on down the line sounded much the same.

"If you'll feel under your chairs, you'll each find a, ah, gift. To greet the guest with, should you choose."

The six shared quick glances before sending down a hand a piece to pat around. 

Jenna murmured a quick curse before pulling her hand back into her lap, holding one of those cap guns from the dollar store that didn't look real at all and, just to drive the fakeness of it home, is painted neon green. Still, she held it between poised fingers, her red mouth setting in a firm line.

Sam unearthed a candlestick that looked like it had been swiped directly from one of the decorative tables in the manor, but felt like it was made of styrofoam. Dylan pulled out a paper towel tube spray-painted silver. Kevin had the cardboard cutout of a wrench, whereas Peter had a thin strand of red ribbon. Gabi's prop was undoubtedly the best recreation: a jagged looking dagger whose handle was real enough, but whose blade was cut from a sturdy foam. Uneasily, they all placed their weapons on their placemats just in front of their plates.

"It's up to you each how you'll move forward, but make your decisions quick, your foe approaches." 

With that, Trimboli retreated to the corner farthest from the door, white gloved hands pressed together.

From the hallway just outside the room, a pair of footsteps unidentifiable sounded. They weren't heavy or light, didn't scuff or clack, and didn't remind any of them of one particular gait. 

One of the instructions that they received alongside their invites was to not fraternize with the other guests about the party before the party. It was fine for Peter and Sam, or Gabi and Jenna, as they each respectively lived with one another, but Sam and Gabi had to keep mum about it at their weekly lunch sesh's and so on and so forth. It was about the hardest thing they'd ever done.

So now, entirely unsure for the first time that night, they all found themselves genuinely and gravely stumped. It was the best possible feeling.

The doorknob spun, a slow, creaking thing, and the last thing that was heard before all hell broke loose was Trimboli's voice. A simple, "Good luck to all."

A few things happened in quick succession after that.

One: the door opened, but two: the lights shut out before they could catch a glimpse of the seventh guest. Three: over the general din of excitement and scattering chairs and rustled places, a sound like a shot rang out from strategically placed speakers around the room. Four: two doors slammed and then five: the lights snapped back on.

Five of them made ruffled eye contact, though no one bothered to speak as they glanced around the room, already trying to piece things together. The table was in disarray, all the weapons jumbled amongst the platters of food, and each of their chairs either flung back or completely toppled over. Their voices rose high overtop of one another, yelling about the food and the weapons and of course, the newest addition: the body slumped in the doorway, eyes screwed shut and a red sticky note pinned to their lapel that read 'dead.'

The only person that was still seated was Kevin, who looked, considering the scene, fairly calm. Though what else was he to do? After all, sitting in front of him was a steaming cup of chamomile tea that hadn't been there the minute before.

**Author's Note:**

> it's been a hot minute since i wrote av but i loved returning to my roots like this lmao i'm not currently planning a sequel but if theres enough interest as to how the rest of the night goes i just might (because hey, whodunnit? and who rented out the manor in the first place anyway?)
> 
> find me on tumblr @foxmulldr !!


End file.
